


Coura Comes To Call

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [19]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 12:51:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When their little Travelers Aid Society is asked to take in two Allied operatives after a mission gone bad, two 'not quite rivals' meet face to face for the first time.  There are more than a few surprises, and eyebrows are raised.   Or as Andrew puts it, "REALLY??!"And Newkirk is none too pleased to find the experience opens up a whole new line of questions from Carter.  "Bloody 'ell, Andrew!" will resound in the tunnels for some time to come.





	Coura Comes To Call

Just an ordinary rescue, a call from London that a team had been on assignment in Berlin, and the Underground contact had turned out to be a double agent, betraying them to the Nazi's. Supposedly the team had slipped out of their hands, but did not escape unscathed, and the planned escape route was a bust because of the traitor as well; the Underground had lost three good operatives to his treachery. It would take time to set up a new escape route, and London said the team leader was needed back right away, so London was asking that they be passed along through Stalag 13, and then on to the coast. London specified that medical attention would be needed, both operatives had been wounded, though not too badly, and the Underground had not dared to try and get a doctor to them, since the Nazi's knew they had been wounded and were keeping a close eye on anyone seeking medical treatment. Okay, so they'd done this before, and Berlin was far enough away, and the Underground had led a tangled trail, so they didn't have to worry too much about them being tracked here. So, same old story, different day, no issues. Right.

"Any more details of what or who we are expecting, Kinch," Hogan asked.

"Just some British major and someone he had working undercover at one of the German nightclubs, a singer," Kinch replied.

LeBeau and the others brightened, "a female singer?" asked LeBeau with a huge smile. The others clammered for more information, what did she look like, was she pretty, was she young, pretty much what'd he'd expect from his guys.

Kinch glared at them, "they didn't say anything about that, just that she's sporting a knife wound, and the Major is carrying a bullet. Maybe I should call them back and ask for her measurements," and just looked at them as their expressions turned eagerly hopeful. He snorted and shook his head at them, "Yeah, not a chance."

He looked at the Colonel, "Underground says that whenever it's not necessary that they stay totally quiet, they haven't stopped sniping at each other since they got picked up!"

"Great, they don't have enough to worry about with the Nazi's being after them, they have to be at each other's throats as well??!" Hogan replied, with a disgusted shake of his head. "Alright, Kinch, LeBeau, go pick them up, bring them in through the tunnel," only to see a shake of the head from Kinch.

"No can do, Colonel; they say the major isn't in any shape for a trek through the woods; they're sending the pair of them in with Schnitzer in about two hours."

"Alright, be ready to receive them. LeBeau, keep a lookout, and bring them in that way. Newkirk, Carter, be ready to provide a diversion across the compound," and the three left, Newkirk and Carter arguing about the statistical chances of whether the woman would be more likely to be a blond or a brunette, LeBeau just muttering to himself about how he hoped she'd be short so he could reach her better to cuddle, with the others throwing back comments on the likelihood of her being willing to cuddle with the likes of him when she had the other two to choose between, and which was more likely to catch her eye. Hogan and Kinch chuckled to themselves, shook their heads and went about their business til Schnitzer's dog truck arrived. 

Schnitzer came, the transfer was made from the truck, through the kennel, down into the tunnel. Carter and Newkirk hurried back in, to see a strangely apprehensive LeBeau coming up through the raised bunk.

"Louie, what's wrong, weren't they in the truck?" Newkirk asked, while Carter was asking, "well, is she a blonde or not?"

"No, Carter, she is not a blonde, and yes they were in the truck, but mon colonel is NOT going to be pleased!"

Hogan came out of his office, "they here, LeBeau?"

"Oui mon colonel, but mon colonel . . ." as the bunk raised again and Kinch poked his head through. Like LeBeau, he had a strange look on his face.

"Well, get them up here, let's see what we have," Hogan said impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Kinch said reluctantly, exchanging a long look with LeBeau, who only shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Carter and Newkirk were now frowning, perplexed at all the drama.

"Kinch, what . . ." Newkirk started to ask, then stopped in midsentence at the sight of the woman climbing over the edge of the bunk. 

Everyone's mouths gaped open. Hogan came close to exploding, "just what are you doing back here? I thought you had somewhere else to be, something to do with sheep!" he snapped.

"I beg your pardon?" came crisply from the solid looking man easing his way over the railing, with considerable help from Kinch. "If you have a problem, Colonel, I'd suggest you address it with me!" while the woman just looked at Hogan as if he'd gone mad.

Then she frowned, took a look around, her eye snagged momentarily on the small troup of men gathered in the room, noting the combination of uniforms - American, two white, one black, French, and RAF - she closed those brown eyes, shook her head, and asked, "would someone like to confirm just where we are, not that I don't think I already know??"

Newkirk gave a quick warning glance at his commanding officer, hoping Hogan would understand! Carter looked over at Hogan, licked his lips and said, "uh, Stalag 13, m'am."

She snorted and broke into a very odd laugh, "yes, of course we are, where else would we be??!"

She turned to snap at the man who had come up after her, "Kevin, will you please sit down before you fall down??! Stubborn idiot!" all delivered with an exaggerated eyeroll.

"All right, I'm sitting, are you satisfied now??!" came the exasperated response from the middle aged man with the silvery gray eyes, with matching silvery grey threads in his dark hair, in a decidedly upper class British accent settling on the long bench.

"Not really, but it'll do for now," came back at him. 

Hogan frowned at them, "Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior Prisoner of War at our happy little establishment, and you are?"

"Major Kevin Richards, Special Forces. This," with a pursing of his lips and an abrupt gesture that brought a wince to his face, to the woman standing there with a grin on her face, "is Coura O'Donnell; she was working under cover . . ." and stopped in shock at the outburst from the men.

"Coura??! Really??!" came the delighted response from Carter accompanied by a huge grin. Then, as he looked her up and down, his eyes got huge, "reeaallly??!" in a totally different tone of voice, knowing how old she was supposed to be, contrasting that with the way she looked. He thought to himself, his thoughts clearly evident on his face, {"I mean, WOW! Really??!"}

She laughed in return, "yes, really, and I believe you MUST be Andrew," and turning around to the others with a wry grin, nodding to each of them, "Kinch? Louie? And of course, the Professor," giving Newkirk a totally cheeky grin.

Then, turning, more formally, with a small aloof smile, she inclined her head, {"almost like bloody royalty acknowledging a peasant!"} Peter thought with some amusement, "you would of course be the ever so charming Colonel Hogan; I should have recognized you at once by your gracious greeting!" 

Richards frowned a bit at that, looking at Hogan, appraisingly, one eyebrow at a tilt; somehow, he hadn't liked that comment or the speedy recognition of the American officer, and the fact that she seemed to know the others as well.

Suddenly the penny dropped for the men - Coura, Kevin, stiff upper lipped, ready to salute. Peter started to laugh, sitting down on Carter's bunk, as Carter and LeBeau followed suit; Kinch wanted to join them, and certainly had a grin on his face, but thought better of it after looking at their Colonel. He didn't think Hogan had figured it out, not yet, but then Hogan had been annoyed at the girl, the woman's letters, and probably hadn't paid as much attention.

She grinned back at them, but spoke up with a "sorry to interrupt the merriment, guys, though I do understand, really, but do you have a medic, anyone who can remove a bullet? I mean, I can do it," and with a casual gesture, a lethal looking stiletto appearing as if by magic in her hand, "but he's being subborn about it."

"I am not letting you use that thing on me, Coura! I saw what you did with it in Berlin!"

"Oh, good grief, Kevin, stop being such a baby! I wiped it off afterwards, didn't I??!"

"You WIPED it on the seat of your TROUSERS!" to which she gave an amused grin and a twitch of her eyebrow. 

The men were watching the exchange with increased amusement, Hogan with bewilderment. From what the Underground had said, he had expected animosity, not this very odd sort of bickering! This though, he was reminded of the exchanges between Newkirk and LeBeau, or maybe Newkirk and Carter more than anything!

"Oh, yes, and what about you? I offered to stitch up that gash, but no, you'd have no part of that, even when the Underground volunteered the supplies," he came back quickly, with her following with "I've seen examples of your stitchery, Kevin, thank you very much; a four year old doing her first Sampler would do better! If I'm to have a scar, I'd like to have a pretty one, and if not pretty, at least somewhat even! You know, more 'dueling scar' versus 'Bride of Frankenstein'? I'll let the Professor do it long before I let you, and in fact, I think I'd like that! Caeide said you did a fine job at such," adding a deep chuckle, accompanied by a sly glance, reminding Newkirk uncomfortably of Marya, "along with so many other things, of course," turning to Newkirk with another one of those eager smiles, and Peter's eyebrows went up in alarm.

Trying to be the calm voice of reason, not his usual role he had to admit, "well, 'ow about we just let Wilson do that, shall we? 'e's the medic, after all," he suggested in a reassuring tone of voice.

"Yes, but you could do something special; I was thinking maybe a herringbone stitch," to Newkirk's continued amusement.

"No, I don't think so; you'd need a considerable stretch to make that look right," he started to say, when she pulled her shirt, obviously borrowed from someone much larger, out of her pants and up, to display a very long gash from one side of her middle across at a slant and up under her breast and extending to the side under her arm.

More than a little taken aback, letting himself get distracted by the challenge presented. "Well, you just might 'ave the space for it, at that," he admitted, only to have Richards exclaim in exasperation, "oh, for heaven's sake, Coura, why not have him embroider your name along the side while you're at it! And put your shirt back down!" with a puzzled glare at Newkirk as the penny was starting to drop for him too. 

Coura knew when it did, when those grey eyes widened, his mouth dropped, and he snapped his head around to Coura, the question apparent in his eyes. She wiggled an eyebrow at him in glee, "Peter Newkirk, sometimes known as the Professor, mentor to sister Caeide, teacher to several others of us. - meet - Kevin Richards, sometimes Handler for Caeide, and the other sisters as well of course," and chuckled to herself as the two men looked at each warily, assessing each other carefully. She was glad this meeting had taken place after Kevin had stopped being so silly about Caeide; she didn't see it going so well if he hadn't.

"Yes, well, I've heard quite a bit about you," Richards offered cautiously, to which Peter responded with a unseemly snort, "probably a bit more than you'd 'ave liked to'ave, I'd wager," with a cheeky grin. Richards acknowledged that with a wry grin of his own, and offered his hand, and the two men exchanged a rueful handshake. Hogan was now totally confused, and Peter thought it might be better that way. 

Wilson came up through the tunnel, supplies in hand.

"Whata ya have for me, Colonel?" and Hogan motioned everyone into his quarters.

"The major there needs a bullet removed," to which Richards interjected, "she needs some stitching; I can wait," only to get what Peter was expecting now, a deep sigh, "no, you can't! Sit still and let him do his job!"

Her tone was exasperated, the look on her face was frowning and annoyed, her hand as she stroked her hand across his uninjured shoulder was warm and gentle, and set off a longing in every man in the room, well except for the Senior Prisoner of War. Wilson took her at her word, and started unwrapping the bandages around the major's shoulder, surveyed the wound, and started to work.

"I don't have any thing to deaden this, I'm sorry," and Hogan offered, "a shot of whisky might help."

"No, that's not necessary," came the answer Peter had been expecting from the officer, along with the eyeroll from Coura he had also been expecting.

"No, of course it's not, but if you wouldn't mind, Colonel, why don't we just take you up on that offer anyway," she suggested, garnering a slightly bewildered look from the Colonel, amused looks from the men, and a look of frustrated resignation from the beleaguered major.

"Here you go, Major," came as Hogan handed him the shot, and with a dire look at Coura, Richards swallowed the whiskey in one gulp, not even losing his breath at the raw dose, which Peter thought was rather impressive, considering just how bad he knew that whiskey was! Maybe working with Coura had increased his tolerance for shock and pain, Peter thought, knowing it certainly would have for him! It occurred to him that, despite everything, he'd actually gotten off pretty lightly with Caeide!

"Thank you, Colonel. Now, can we get on with this?" 

After taking a good look, Wilson warned him, "this isn't going to be easy, it's wedged alongside the bone, a bit underneath," and Coura moved closer, not saying anything, but her body firmly behind him now, bracing him for Wilson's probing, one hand on his uninjured shoulder, the other on the upper arm of the side Wilson was working on.

Newkirk knew it had to hurt like hell, him pressing back on that long gash, but there was no sign of it on the woman's face, only a stoic endurance, a slight frown, an intense level of concern as she looked downward at the Major. Her eyes were shielded by her eyelids and lashes, their expression not evident, and somehow, Peter thought that might be best; somehow, he had a feeling of what they would show, and that wouldn't be wise on a lot of counts!

They continued their spatting all the time Wilson was working, pausing only when he had to catch his breath from the pain, ending with, "and next time, Kevin, when I tell you to move, that someone has a gun, you might keep in mind that I MEAN for you to get out of the way! I DON'T mean for you to move in front of me!" she scolded, but this time in a low, almost tender voice, the look on her face sliding out of its mask into something almost too raw to watch.

His voice was rather thin now, from what he was going through, but just as annoyed as usual, "yes, well, perhaps it was that skirmish between you and that fellow with the knife that distracted me, you know, the one who was trying for me til you moved between??! Just how am I going to explain to your family that your new decorative stitchery is because you decided I couldn't defend myself??!" 

Peter, who had started chuckling some time ago, now gave way to a rude shout of laughter, {"yes, she's Caeide's sister alright!"} and continued chuckling, shaking his head. "Sorry, major, I don't think you're goin' ta win that one, leastwise I never did!"

Later Kinch expressed all their feelings when he said, "and SHE'S the one her family was going to send to us for a Sabbatical??" and just sat there, shaking his head and laughing to himself.

"Yes," Peter admitted, "but they WERE going to send her twin brother along to keep her in line," wiggling his brows as if to show just how much he thought THAT would have helped. The frequent chuckles, matched with an equal number of shudders, that flowed around the room that night showed what everyone thought of that idea. 

The major being tended, bandaged and finished, Wilson suggested he stretch out in the lower bunk, only to be told, "later, what about her, now?" accompanied by a worried frown.

The shirt drawn back aside, the long ugly gash open to view, Wilson grimaced. "I don't have enough sutures for that, Colonel," whereupon she grinned, "see, Professor, told you it'd be up to you. What color thread do I have to choose from, now?" getting protests from Wilson and the major.

She shook her head, "look, guys, if you won't let the Professor do anything fancy, then tack stitch it with thread; it's nasty looking but it's not all that deep; I'll have one of the brothers take the stitches out and do it up right when we get home," reminding them that her brothers were doctors. Well, at least two of them, and they preferred to believe she was meaning one of them and not one of the others who weren't! Though with her, Peter thought, you couldn't be too sure of that. And it was decided that, although not the most desirable solution, it was really the best they had.

At the Major's request, Hogan handed over another glass of raw whiskey, which she swallowed down with almost as much ease as Richards had, gaining a few raised eyebrows of respect of her own. So Wilson, not Peter, stitched her, basic white thread in spite of her mock pout; every stitch had an accompanying wince on the major's face, even when it didn't on hers. Peter went and got the tin of salve that Dr Riley sent him, offering it without words, and Wilson dabbed it on gently, covering it with gauze and tape. "There, try to keep it dry, and get that blasted thread out of there as soon as you can," he said, shaking his head. 

"Major, will you please stretch out now? You need to get some rest," and Richards finally agreed, allowing them to get him down into the tunnel, settling down into one of the cots. When Coura started to move away, though, after he was in place, he had her wrist in his hand, and tugged her til she heaved a great sigh, gave him a shake of the head, and a very old fashioned look, before easing herself down on the cot the others set up immediately in front of his at his direction. Richards was on his right side, leaving his injured left shoulder free of contact with the cot; the woman curled on her side facing away from him, keeping her wound also free, but somehow, his right arm ended up extended onto her cot, her head angled back to end up on his shoulder; his left hand ended up resting lightly on her hip, like it belonged there. Hogan was looking at them like he , or maybe they, had gone mad, but at a motion from Wilson, he and the rest went back into the main room. 

"Newkirk??" his tone demanding answers, and quickly!

"Well, see, sir, . . ." and Peter's voice trailed off. Looking helplessly at LeBeau, he scratched his head, "well, I think maybe . . ."

Then Hogan remembered! "THAT'S the Kevin she was talking about??!"

Carter grinned, "I think so, sir, . . ." and his voice trailed off under the thunder that filled their Colonel's face.

He turned to Newkirk, "I thought she was supposed to be, what, thirteen, fourteen?"

"Oh, she is, sir, just a very mature thirteen or fourteen," with a smirk.

Hogan's eyes grew challenging, "the same type of mature thirteen or fourteen your Caeide was?" and suddenly Newkirk wasn't smirking anymore. {"Blimey, somehow I forgot 'e'd make THAT connection, though don't know 'ow I'd think that!"}

Luckily, about then, Schultze came barging in for roll call, and everyone surged out into the compound. {"Maybe 'e'll forget all about this by the time we get back in,"} but a sideways glance up at the Colonel, being answered by a very hard glare, drew out a sigh, {"no, didn't think 'e would!"}

LeBeau was rethinking all those stories Peter had told about that year in London, and was now in awe that his friend had survived it with his mind and 'virtue' intact! He wasn't so sure he'd have been able to manage, not if this one was an example of what Caeide had been like at that age!

Newkirk wasn't too sure how much Major Richards had smoothed over the problem, but he had to admit the Major's outraged reaction to Hogan's chidings was impressive; he thought it might even be believable, maybe.

"Are you out of your bloody mind, Colonel??! She's fourteen! I've known her family for years! AND she works for me when it's absolutely necessary! What on earth gave you the notion . . .??! Of COURSE I kept her close with me in the tunnel; she's my responsibility, and forgive me, this is a prisoner of war camp, with a serious dearth of women; I don't know you or your men; I'm not about to let her go roaming about alone while I'm off taking a nap somewhere!!"

The Major was fuming, Coura was trying to hide possibly the most wicked female grin Peter had ever seen, even including Marya's expressions in that count, though her eyes had clearly invited him to join in the amusement; Hogan was again totally bewildered. The bickering but then the tenderness, the harsh words contrasting with the protectiveness shown on both sides. Like most anything else to do with the O'Donnell women, he was at a loss.

"But you're fine with her being undercover in a German nightclub?" Hogan asked with a shake of his head, while Coura held up two fingers, mouthing, "two German nightclubs!" while wiggling her eyebrows and grinning.

"Hardly! The agent we had ready to move into that position became 'unavailable' at the last minute once it was known that the Parisian was involved, not just the Tripoli. Her scruples were understandable, I suppose, if highly inconvenient. She just convinced the top brass she hadn't the 'skills' to deal with what was required at the Parisian. The Underground was adamant that the rendezvous had to be made, the information passed; well, we can put that insistance down to the traitor's desire to look good to his new superiors by snagging a couple of British agents, I imagine! There simply was no one else available who was capable of carrying it off, particularly of the singing and the dancing that was necessary at the Parisian. It is a most" he paused, "unique establishment!"

He took a moment to glare at the young woman, who gave him her most innocent look, as if she hadn't just finished a week of singing and dancing not only at the Berlin Tripoli, a sultry favorite with Nazi officers and collaborators, but also at the Parisian, one of the truly raunchiest, most decadent places still open in Berlin.

"The other sisters could have DONE it, and quite capably I'm told, but Caeide, well, body makeup sweats off under those lights, and I'm told she has a couple of scars that would have been just too obvious, too memorable in that costume, as does Ciena, and Meghada was nowhere to be found. Well, it's not something I intend to put in motion, or allow, again," only to catch a wry smile from her. 

"Coura, I mean it, enough is enough; when we get back to London, it's done. This was too close; you can go stay with Meghada, with Caeide, back with your parents, but you're finished. You aren't under Contract, and I won't send you out again. And don't try to go around me to one of the other Handlers, either."

The look on his face was resolute, grim, and she knew he meant it. He had entered the Parisian to start the extraction just as she started her number, and at the end of the number, he was still standing in that same place, not having moved an inch, and she was rather surprised he wasn't still there, frozen to the floor in shock! She was just glad he hadn't been there for the number the headliner had performed immediately before hers; that one had shocked even HER by its absolute vulgarity, and she did NOT shock easily!

A slight smile crossed her face, her eyes saying things no one was willing to try and interpret, though at least one or two were rather wistful, thinking it must be nice to have such a gaze rest on them, "we can discuss that once we get home, Kevin," in a soothing tone of voice, and changed the subject, all of a sudden sounding rather like an experienced university wife calming her annoyed professor husband at a faculty tea! He frowned, sighed and shook his head.

Peter didn't know just how pleased the major would be with that discussion or its outcome; he remembered a few such discussions of his own! That oh-so-reasonable tone of voice did NOT mean she agreed, only that she was biding her time til the advantage was in her favor!

Hogan thought to take the opportunity to try and enlighten Major Richards as to the devious nature of the O'Donnell women, in particular this youngest one, but realized he probably wouldn't be getting too far when the reminiscing started. Seems the major had known the family for years, knew and liked the parents, had worked with three, now four of the sisters, and while he found them all exasperating, stubborn, and highly unconventional, though highly effective, he obviously had a strong affection for each of them.

When Hogan found Newkirk recounting some of the stories about his year of mentoring Caeide, including the time SHE had taken a knife in HIS defense, just as Coura had done for Richards, AND the time he'd been injured and defiant over her fussing and she'd put him in his place firmly enough to leave him pouting but compliant, and the major laughing, shaking his head in sympathy, with a new-found understanding, and yes, sincere liking for this man he had thought he'd dislike immensely, Hogan knew it was a lost cause.

Even his hints that the girl had lascivious intentions towards Richards, were met with an amused smirk, "well, she may possibly have, but I'm more inclined to think she's pretending, to get back at me for being a bit of a nuisance about her sisters and their personal lives." He admitted, "I spent way too much time trying to get them to see things my way, and have finally just given up. They'll do things as they see fit, and I must admit, probably know better what suits them than I ever would! I rather believe either they set Coura on me, or she decided to see how much she could annoy me, just because I annoyed them so much!"

The others heard the explanation, and exchanged a wry glance. For their part, they just weren't so sure about that! There was just that certain something in the young woman's eyes, in her smile, in the gentle way she touched him. They weren't sure just how much the major believed that either, or how much he really WANTED to believe that. There was a certain wistfulness to his protests, after all. Peter, most of all, understood how that was.

They left, they were gone, it wasn't discussed much, though Carter did ask around about those nightclubs, no matter how much Newkirk and LeBeau tried to hush him. It didn't help when the subject came up again while they had the coffee pot going during a visit from Burkhaulter and Hockstetter. Seems Hockstetter was combing the weeds for any news of a supposed British agent who'd been singing at the Parisian.

"Isn't that a little strange, Major? I would think a British agent would rather stand out; what did he look like," asked Klink, to a garumph from Burkhaulter and a enraged hiss from Hockstetter.

"A FEMALE agent, Klink, you idiot! But never you fear, we will find her! They were filming the show, and we have a very good image of her and her 'act'! Hummmphh, filthy British decadence!" comfortably ignoring the fact that the filming, the performance, took place in a German nightclub.

Burkhaulter snickered, "you have seen the film, Hockstetter?"

They could almost hear the bristling, "well, of course, it was my duty, so I could recognize this young woman."

"And where is this film now," Burkhaulter asked.

Silence, "I have it with me, just in case I need to refresh my memory, you understand."

"Perhaps you might wish to show it to us, Hockstetter, so that we might 'be on the lookout' as well," he suggested smoothly. "In fact, Major, I insist; we want to help the Gestapo in this matter, don't we, Klink," to the hurried assurances from the Kommandant that they most certainly wanted to help the Gestapo. 

Unfortunately, while threading the film on the reel, somehow it got caught, and when Hockstetter flipped the switch, the film sped through as if shot from a cannon, ripping into shreds as it went. The Major shrieked and fumed, but as it was his own projector, and he himself had loaded it onto the reel, he could hardly blame anyone, though he tried.

"Someone had to have tampered with it," he kept insisting, only to be put in his place firmly by General Burkhaulter.

"Major, you were most careful to keep us, keep everyone away from that film, it was guarded by you and your own men; it was your own equipment, YOU yourself were the only one to handle it. It is unfortunate, of course, but a simple equipment malfunction, not something you can place blame on anyone for. You will just have to go from your memory; something tells me you watched that film enough times for that to be quite possible!" Burkhaulter and Klink shared the rare companionable laugh as Hockstetter stormed off. 

Hogan was suspicious, but when it came down to it, he had to admit he knew where everyone was during that whole time; his command crew had all been with him, and hardly anyone else had the motive or the ability to pull off something like that. He was a little annoyed, {'I would have liked to have gotten a good look at that; see what they're like when they're NOT trying to be inconspicious. Has to be something a lot different to have pulled THAT off!'} not being able to reconcile how he'd seen the women versus the supposedly successful nightclub performances.

Later Carter took a quiet moment to ask Newkirk, "the Warrior?" to get a snicker and a reply, "wouldn't doubt it for a minute, Andrew! Doubt she'd pass up the opportunity to protect Coura, being right on the spot and all!"

Though Carter did think it rather a shame he hadn't had a chance to see that film for himself; maybe that would answer some of his questions that everyone kept ignoring. Newkirk looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and his lips quirked into a tiny grin, knowing exactly what his friend was thinking. Personally, he was more than pleased at the turn of events; {"last thing I need is for 'ogan to get a look at Coura doing that act, not with 'er looking so much like Caeide looked, and looks! And I'd not be to 'appy for the rest of the guys to get a good look, either, now that I think on it! Though I wouldn't mind 'aving just a peek, myself. Maybe sometime Caeide . . ."} and his mind drifted off to one of those 'pleasant thoughts' that cropped up once in a while.


End file.
